


Falling for You

by crazyrandomhappenklance



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Confusion, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Drinking, Eventual Fluff, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Gay Keith (Voltron), Getting Together, He can't help it, He's sober enough to know what he's doing, Lance (Voltron) is a Good Friend, Lance Loves Keith (Voltron), Love at First Sight, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mixed Messages, Not Beta Read, Oh My God, Pining Lance (Voltron), Puns & Word Play, Roommates, Selfless Lance (Voltron), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and that's okay, because it's Klance, but not enough to think before he speaks, gratuitous double entendres, he's emotional, keith has a secret, lots of F bombs, melodramatic Lance, my hand slipped, slightly Drunk Lance, they're, this is me getting my mojo back, this was only supposed to be a twitter thread, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26069608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyrandomhappenklance/pseuds/crazyrandomhappenklance
Summary: Lance needs a roommate and he ends up getting a whole lot more. Keith is perfect in every way, but just when everything seems to be going right, Keith knocks him left. Lance knows Keith's keeping something from him and he thinks he knows what the secret is, but things take a turn in a direction he definitely doesn't expect them to.
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 305
Collections: Klance: Into the Multiverse, Klasix Master Collection





	Falling for You

**Author's Note:**

> For Mochichu, with love and gratitude.
> 
> **Now with art by Koko Koneko!**

Lance is broke. 

He’s never been particularly flush, but right now, he’s feeling the pinch. 

He’s not gonna lie, when he bought the two-bedroom apartment to be closer to his job in the city, he knew the costs were higher, but he’d justified it by figuring he’d be spending much less on the daily commute. 

He had done the math, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was, just as he was about to make agreements on the apartment he had based his calculations on, another apartment—an _amazing_ property, in an _amazing_ area, with _amazing_ facilities—suddenly came onto the market, and Lance found himself shaking hands before he knew it. 

He had figured he could make up the difference by scrimping here and there, but a few months down the line, after a week of surviving on nothing but ramen, he had thrown in the towel and conceded he would need to get a roommate. 

When the gentle knock tells Lance that the first applicant of the day has arrived, he tries to stuff down the nerves that are building in his stomach because this isn’t just the first of the day; this guy, Keith Kogane, is the _only_ applicant. 

If Lance fucks this up, he’s fucked. 

He opens the door.

He’s fucked. 

He knows this because Keith Kogane—or at least the guy on his doorstep he assumes is Keith Kogane—looks like a goddamn model. The kind of model they use for cologne advertisements. The kind that teen Lance used to discreetly tear from magazines and preserve carefully between his bed and the mattress.

The guy's standing there, all perfectly-imperfect hair that’s so unstylish it’s stylish. All high cheekbones that grace intense, dark eyes, and all sharp jawlines that sport a hint of a five-o’clock shadow, even though it’s ten in the morning. 

Then there’s the contour-hugging black T-shirt and black leather pants. They're tight. Lance’s subconscious is considering how much of a struggle it is to peel them off...

The guy even has a leather jacket hanging over his shoulder, held by a curled index finger that's protruding from a black leather fingerless glove.

He’s fucked. 

He’s extremely fucked. 

He knows this because he’s just realised that he took in all of those details with a down-then-up lick of his eyes that was so obvious that only the most oblivious idiot could miss, and before Lance is able to say anything, he has to lick his lips to fix his mouth that’s gone Mojave-dry.

Keith’s eyes track the movement before they shift sharply away, then he pulls his free hand from his pants’ pocket (how in hell was there room enough?!) and runs it through his soft-looking, black locks.

Suddenly, Lance’s thoughts take a new direction. What if this guy _isn’t_ Keith Kogane? He starts to feel really stupid as he realises that he’s just standing there, looking at the guy, and… yeah, he’s fucked, he knows this, so he might as well get it over and done with. 

“Sooo, you must be Keith, right?” Lance manages to say in a friendly, relaxed way that’s in total contrast to his inner monologue at the moment. 

Keith looks a little startled but then smiles in this cute, reserved way. He shuffles, looks down at his feet before bringing his head almost all the way up and looks back at Lance. 

“Uh, yeah, um, yeah—yes! I am. It’s Lance, right?” 

Lance realises that Keith’s keeping his head tilted to hide the blush that’s tinting his pale cheeks, and that's… that’s fucking cute. 

He’s so, so fucked.

Right. His name is Lance. “Yep, that’s me!” he says, shooting finger guns. He dies a little, inside. 

Lance pulls himself together. Reminds himself that he has a spare room that needs to be occupied, pronto, so he steps to the side and lets Keith in. 

“So, that’s the lounge... kitchen... bathroom’s at the end there...” Lance says as he walks down the hallway, pointing to the respective rooms and Keith follows behind, “...that's my room, and this," Lance steps to the side to allow Keith to enter, "would be yours.” 

Walking in, Keith slides the jacket from his shoulder and folds it over his crossed arms as he takes a moment to look around. Finally looking back at Lance, he nods and says, “This is great, in fact, it’s perfect.”

“Yeah?” says Lance, trying to keep his cool, ignoring how his voice had turned a little squeaky there. “Cool. Uh, you got time for a coffee?”

“Sure,” Keith replies, shooting Lance with another of those cute smiles and Lance books it to the kitchen before he combusts. 

Making the coffee gives Lance enough time to calm down and get a grip. He manages to hold a conversation that actually comes across as normal, and by the time he can see the bottom of his mug, he realises that they’re actually getting along okay and his initial crisis has simmered down to a little fizzle. 

Everything about Keith checks out okay as well. The guy has a steady job and income and he’s got a couple of solid references, so Lance is feeling relieved and excited. There’s just one thing he needs to scope out before he asks if Keith will take the room.

Normally, Lance doesn’t have a problem metaphorically nailing his pink, purple, and blue colours to the mast, and that's not changed, but bringing it up with Keith feels like he’s somehow laying his cards on the table. 

“So, there is one thing,” Lance begins, his voice seeping nerves a little, “just so there are no surprise surprises further down the road, I’m, like, bi and, well, it’s not something I keep secretive, y’know? So... I hope that’s not gonna be a problem...” Lance glances from his mug up at Keith, then back again, “I mean, I’m not actually seeing anyone at the moment, but there’ve been times in the past, like college,” he pulls a face in recollection, “when bringing back a guy did not go down well at all...” Lance fiddles with the handle of the mug. 

There’s a second’s pause before Keith shrugs. “It’s not a problem,” he says, “unless there’s a problem with me being gay?” His cute smile makes another appearance. 

Lance’s stomach swoops, hits his feet, and bounces right back up again, like a bungee jumper from a crane. He shakes his head; pretty sure he looks stupidly dumb or his eyes are bulging as he tries to process and assimilate this very important piece of information. 

Before he gets a chance to respond with actual words, Keith does that fingers-through-his-hair thing again and carries on talking. “But, like, you don’t have to worry at all about me bringing back guys or anything. I’m not really into hook-ups or casual stuff. N-not that there’s anything wrong with that!” He blurts, obviously worried that he’s made a faux pas, “It’s just, that’s not really my thing, and besides, I don’t go out much. I spend most of my spare time in my room, on my art, so…” 

If Lance was fucked before, he’s triple-fucked now. 

No, wait, quadruple fucked? He’s lost count. He can’t count because his brain has gone into meltdown. 

* * *

From the first cardboard box that Keith moved in, Lance has been waiting for it. 

Ready for the big reveal. The drop.

The truth bomb that shatters his illusion that Keith is, well, perfect. 

He doesn’t want to put him on a pedestal, but, wow, Keith just ticks every goddamn box. 

Keith’s polite, considerate, tidy, and pays his rent on time, but also, now that they’re a bit more familiar with each other, Lance has discovered he’s also funny and fun, in his own little Keith-y way.

He was fucked before; he’s a lost cause, now.

Lance sees it like this—has a choice; he can torture himself on the daily by doing nothing about it, pining like the idiot he is, but keeping their newly-forged friendship intact, or, make a move, risk ruining their friendship (and let's not forget the gigantic possibility of rejection), for the chance that he might have a shot. 

Lance has no choice. 

He thought he did, but he didn’t consider the fact that he has zero impulse control. Luckily, unbelievably, somehow, he manages to keep hold of the reins. 

Somehow, through every interaction with Keith, he succeeds in maintaining his cool and avoids making a fool of himself. 

It's weird, because, although Keith makes Lance giddy as hell, he also makes him feel so comfortable. Lance notes this because he’s never felt this way when spending time with someone he’s felt this way about before. 

After a few weeks, any resolve Lance had to keep things platonic crumbles. 

To be fair, Lance never stood a chance. His default setting is flirt, even if his intentions are meaningless. Even if Keith had been as straight as a Roman road, Lance would still have carried himself with the same level of playful charm.

To be equally fair, for this reason, Lance’s expectations are at a default setting of non-existent, because—well, he’s just _Lance_. 

However, the way Keith subtly responds to him—his little acts of kindness, his little jokes—it’s… different. 

Keith is quiet; Lance is loud. They’re almost polar opposites, but Lance knows that in Keith’s silence, he’s not blocking Lance out, he’s not ignoring him, he’s actually listening. It may not be obvious, but he's paying him attention. 

Keith simply absorbs him, like the way a black surface soaks up the heat of the sun and holds it for hours. 

Another contrast that becomes apparent is that Keith has this walled exterior. A tough barrier around himself that seems impenetrable. He carries a hard-set expression that would give most people the impression that he’s indifferent, but Lance has seen glimpses of the warmth and passion that lies behind that facade. 

Whenever Keith starts talking about his art, or describing the plot of his favourite book, or some niche movie he’s watched a gazillion times with Shiro, his brother, he lights up. It’s such a precious thing to witness that Lance feels privileged to get to see it, he even covets it for himself a little. 

Perhaps it’s that thought that motivates Lance to be a little proactive of the situation.

One thing that becomes apparent from the very first week of sharing together, is that Keith is a walking miracle. 

Lance is appalled at his eating habits and lack of nutrition, which comes from an inability to do anything more than set the microwave to four minutes or reconstitute something with boiling water. So, Lance insists on cooking for the two of them every night. 

If there’s one thing that being brought up in a large, Cuban household has taught him, it’s how to cook. The downside of that, which has only come to light most recently, is that no one in his family has ever had the need (or perhaps the ability) to cook a meal for one.

So, Lance relishes the opportunity to flex in the kitchen, and the adoration he gets in return from Keith seems a little OTT, but he’ll savour that sweet, sweet praise for all it’s worth—thank you very much. 

There are evenings that Lance sacrifices in order to see the way Keith perks up when he tosses him the TV remote and tells him he’s happy to watch whatever he wants to watch tonight, then slips in the fact there’s a new episode of Cryptid Hunters starting in half an hour. 

Totally worth it. 

One time, Keith’s cheap body wash runs out, and so Lance selflessly gives him his.

Well, not entirely selfless, truth be told. It’s an outrageously expensive one that he only uses very sparingly himself. Lance had only made the offer with the intention of it being a one-off, but when Keith came out of the shower looking and smelling like _that,_ he was almost willing to marry the guy on the spot. Figuring that proposing might just be putting the cart before the horse, he settled on indulging himself (which, realistically, was more like torturing himself) by nonchalantly telling Keith it was nothing, and he could keep the rest. 

Once or twice, he's caught Keith with his eyes trained on parts of Lance’s anatomy that should be considered rude, if Lance wasn't coyly flaunting himself deliberately with that very intention. 

It’s nice. 

It’s encouraging. 

It fuels Lance with a little more of that confidence he needs, so that he can be absolutely sure that he’s not going to make a catastrophic mistake because the more he gets to know Keith, the more of Keith he wants. 

To add to the debate, there’s the little things that Keith does that Lance is _sure_ are deliberate. 

Like, the way Keith hands him the mail in the morning and accidentally brushes Lance’s hand with his. Well, there’s only so many times he can do that for it _not_ to be accidental, and Lance considers that _every morning_ should realistically fall into the category of _not_ accidental. 

And, like, sure, it’s the height of summer now, and okay, it’s hot _,_ but it’s almost as if Keith has forgotten what clothes _are_ , opting to spend his time indoors wearing nothing but running shorts. 

Nothing else. 

Just running shorts.

Short, running shorts. 

He has a black ink tattoo of a dragon that sweeps down his side. It starts under his arm, clinging to his ribs, then it disappears under his shorts at the hip, before reappearing down his muscular thigh where it comes to a stop just above his knee, and _that_ covers more of his body than those damn shorts do.

And, like, sure, the kitchen is small, but there’s more than enough room for him and Hunk to cook in there together, comfortably. Yet Hunk has never had to hold Lance by the hips to manoeuvre him around just to get to the sink, but somehow, Keith does?

He's pretty sure, fairly certain, that if he made a move on Keith, it wouldn't end in rejection—right? 

Eventually, Lance decides that the building tension is too much. 

He’s gonna make a move. 

He has to make a move. 

If he doesn’t, he’s gonna make himself blind, if that old wives’ tale is to be believed. 

Lance decides Friday night is The Night. 

He has some flextime saved up, so he spends Friday afternoon making Keith’s favourite meal and giving himself his ten-point grooming routine. That’s his top one he reserves for special occasions, and the one that covers _everything_ (insert googly eyes emoji).

By early evening Lance is nervous. Keith must be running late but Lance is trying not to clock-watch. He’s checking the oven when he hears the familiar jangle of Keith’s keys. It sends Lance’s heart leaping, and he’s grateful that Keith is never in any rush to hang up his jacket, remove his boots, and carefully stash his motorbike helmet on the shelf in the closet because it gives Lance time to steady his breathing and check himself out in the reflection of the glass door, one final time.

Only, Keith doesn’t stop. 

Keith doesn’t pause. Keith makes his way from the front door straight to his bedroom, boots and all. Well, Lance assumes this from the time it takes him to get from one door to the other because he can’t see him from the kitchen. 

He wonders what’s up. 

Lance goes and knocks gently on his door and there’s a sudden scrabbling sound. It’s a suspicious sound, which is followed up by another sound that Lance tries to pretend he didn’t hear, because it sounded like, “Shhh!”.

Lance’s stomach drops. 

He knows what that sound means. It means Keith is not alone, and it means he doesn’t want Lance to know he has company. If he doesn’t want Lance to know he has company, then it’s the kind of company he wants to keep private. 

Lance’s heart sinks. 

“H-hey, Keith! Everything okay?” He aims for cheerful and misses as his voice breaks a little at the end. “I, uh, made the casserole you like! I thought we could maybe, uh, I dunno, slob on the couch and binge that new paranormal series?” Lance waits for a reply. 

The very fact that he has to wait for a reply is telling enough. 

He knows he’s fucked up. 

He realises he’s left it too late. 

“Uh, I’m… I’m not feeling too great,” Keith sounds nervous, he’s obviously lying, “I probably should just stay in here, I’d hate for you to catch anything,” 

_What, like, feelings?_ Lance’s head bitterly supplies, _Too late for that._

“Aw, man! That’s rough. Hope whatever it is leaves soon!” He’s being a bitch, he knows he’s being a bitch, but he can’t help the sly double-meaning from slipping out, “If you need me, for anything, just say the word, okay?” There’s more meaning in those words too. 

There’s a beat of silence. 

“Okay.”

Dejected, he turns away, then stops when Keith calls him:

“Lance?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Lance sighs, “No problem.”

Lance spends the rest of the night in his room, headphones on to spare himself from accidentally hearing something that might cause him more heartache, and thinks of a million other bitchy things he’d like to say, until he relents and accepts that Keith doesn’t deserve it. It’s not Keith’s fault that Lance didn’t make his feelings known. 

He should be happy for Keith. He said he wasn’t one for playing around, so if he’s met someone, then he must be someone special.

 _Good for him!_ he thinks, but can’t bring himself to mean it. 

* * *

The next morning, Lance can’t bear the thought of getting out of bed, so he curls up again and falls back asleep. The next time he wakes up It’s nearly 2 pm, and it registers belatedly that the sound of the front door closing is what roused him. 

Keith’s gone out. 

Lance decides to drag himself from his pillow pity party and take the opportunity to grab breakfast and a coffee without having to face the source of his misery. 

He gets half-way towards the kitchen when he suddenly has a thought. What if it wasn’t Keith leaving, but his clandestine guest instead?

He pauses.

“Keith?”

Nothing. 

The cool of the kitchen floor wakes him slowly from his feet up and as he’s waiting for the toaster to pop, he receives a text. It’s Keith.

{Keith} **I’m at the supermarket, want anything?**

So, It was him that he heard leaving. Lance wonders if his partner left last night, or if he had stayed over and they had left together. The thought twists his guts. 

Supermarket. Groceries. _Right_. 

Truth be told, he doesn’t have the stomach or the peace of mind to think about it. Then he remembers. 

{Lance} **Are you feeling better now?**

It’s a bit of a low shot, but if Keith would rather play games than be honest, then Lance has little shame in dropping down to his level. 

The toaster pops and his phone beeps. 

Deciding that whatever lie is waiting in his messages can stay there a moment longer, he butters his toast.

After the first bite, he unlocks his phone and reads the reply.

{Keith} **I am. Sorry for bailing on you last night.**

Lance sighs. He wants to be mad at Keith, but he knows he’s not at fault. He was obviously reading all the signals wrong, after all. He’ll just have to learn from his mistakes and move on. Only, the thought of anyone other than Keith just crushes him, and that’s the moment it hits him just how far gone he is for him. 

Toast in one hand, phone in the other, Lance slumps down, cross-legged, onto the cold, tile floor, and the screen blurs as the first tears begin to pool in his lower lids. He smears them away with the heel of his thumb and miserably types his reply. He hits send before he can give himself time to consider if he’s being a tad over-dramatic about this. 

{Lance} **Nah, it’s okay. These things happen. No worries. I think I might be coming down with something myself.**

{Keith} **Oh. Okay. sorry to hear that. Is there anything you need I can get you while I’m out?**

A second wave of tears spill over and hit the tiles. 

{Lance} **I think I just need some time to rest.**

He picks himself up off the floor, takes a spoon from the drawer and the tub of ice cream from the freezer, then hauls himself back to bed before reading the reply. 

{Keith} **Well if you think of something just text me. Take care and feel better soon.**

Lance takes a big sniff, pulls back the lid and drowns his sorrows in Phish Food.

* * *

For the next few days, Lance manages to avoid Keith.

Between crying and sleeping, Lance decides just to stay holed-up in his room for the rest of the weekend. 

He had heard Keith knock a couple of times, checking in on him to see if he was okay, but he couldn’t trust himself to answer. He couldn’t trust his voice not to give him away and let Keith know the real reason he felt like shit, so he just pretended to be asleep, and Keith had let him be. 

A tiny part of him ached for Keith to get frustrated by his silence. To figure out that something wasn’t right and push through the door anyway, to find Lance lying there with his ruined, blotchy face; for Keith to rush over to him, wrap him up in his arms and beg Lance to tell him what was wrong. Then Lance would confess everything, making Keith realise how much Lance cared for him and then Keith would figure out that he had made a huge mistake, and suddenly see the true depths of the love he had for Lance. They would kiss and cry, and then kiss some more, and… 

and...

Disappointingly, he knows, real-life never plays out like it does in the movies. 

* * *

By Monday morning, Lance is all cried-out. 

He feels pathetic. 

His face feels equal parts puffy and tight. He needs to go into work, but the thought of seeing Keith—of Keith seeing him like this—makes him anxious. If he sees Keith, he’s not sure how he’ll react. He wants to believe he could rise above it. He pictures himself being calm and self-assured, being a good friend, as Keith breaks the news to him. 

As he lies in bed picturing it, he chokes on a sob, and he knows he isn’t ready to face devastation yet. 

A familiar, friendly rap on his door pulls him from his thoughts.

“Hey, Lance?” Keith’s voice sounds different.

Words are still impossible. “Mmm-hmm?” It sounds sleepy; plausible. 

“Hey!” he sounds brighter now, relieved, which makes Lance crumple with guilt, because, all things considered, that’s actually fair. 

Keith pauses, he was obviously unprepared for a conversation. Lance can picture the exact expression Keith’s wearing just from the tone of his voice, and he wonders how and when he developed that ability.

“Hi,” Keith starts again, “I—” he exhales loudly, “I just wanted to check you’re alright. It’s almost time for me to leave for work and I was hoping to see you before I went…” his voice trails off like he had been planning to say more, then thought better of it. 

_Confession time?_ Lance wonders.

“Aww, ya miss me?” it’s a natural comment for him to make, but it bites.

“...Yeah… actually, I do.” 

Lance is thrown for a loop. That was definitely not what he was expecting, at all. Keith genuinely sounds a little cut up about it. It doesn’t make any sense, though. 

He’s sitting bolt upright now, running his hands through his hair and trying to come up with a reasonable reaction. 

“Uh…” Lance’s brain feels like it’s being squeezed, like he’s literally trying to wring out a response from it, “How about we order pizza tonight, then?” 

That’s cool, right? That's something they've done plenty of times before. It's what normal roommates do on the regular—no homo. 

It's simple. It should be an easy yes or no, but Keith seems to be deliberating. 

“Sure, sounds good, but...” Keith hesitates again, and it's driving Lance crazy. How could he say he was missing him one minute, then need to think about sharing a pizza the next? “...I dunno if I can hang out for long, work’s kinda a bitch right now and taking over my free time.”

There’s that lilt of a lie again, Lance is sure of it. He had been starting to come to terms with the fact that Keith was lost to him, but the wishy-washy answers and secrecy were pissing Lance off. Maybe he could build himself up enough tonight to finally drag the truth out of him.

“‘Kay,” Lance’s voice has grown a little weak, he’s losing the fight with his emotions. 

“Cool. See you later, Lance.”

The way he says his name sets the air on fire and Lance feels like gasoline. 

It’s unfair. 

* * *

It’s ironically sad that Lance doesn’t need to think about what to get Keith when he phones in their order at their local pizza delivery place. He wonders if Keith would know what to order for him.

There’s a little time to kill before Keith gets home, and their food is due to arrive around the same time, so Lance busies himself in the kitchen, getting plates and drinks ready for them both. 

He can’t stop thinking about how, if things had gone differently that night, this would make for a really nice night in, just the two of them. 

The thought brings about that familiar prickling in his eyes, but then he hears the jangle of Keith’s keys. By the time it takes Lance to call out a greeting, he hears Keith’s bedroom door open and close. 

Lance is confused and a little shocked. Surely not…

Suddenly he’s questioning everything he knows and feels for Keith, because, okay, fair enough, this isn’t a date or anything special they’re doing tonight, he gets it, it’s just two roommates sharing a meal, but still… he wouldn’t… would he?

Not to mention this other guy. Whoever he is, he doesn’t deserve this either, but Lance hasn’t got thoughts to spare for someone else right now. 

Emotions too complicated for him to understand begin piling up one on top of the other. The suffocation of it all starts to make his head hurt, but before it all spirals out of control, there’s a harsh knocking on the front door. 

The pizza guy. 

He seriously can’t deal with it. He shouts on Keith to answer it, it’s paid for already.

In the time it takes Keith to leave his room and get the door, the pizza guy has knocked again.

Pulling himself together, Lance takes a deep breath and meets Keith in the living room. 

At first, Lance is a little taken aback at how tired Keith looks. He can’t help himself from feeling concerned, but then he processes the possible circumstances and his stomach twists again. Keith passes him his pizza box and Lance trades it for Keith’s soda. 

There’s a moment then, very much like their morning mail moments, where Keith stalls. Lance feels the urge to look up at him, to linger for a skipped heartbeat on his dark gaze and Lance is only just now realising that that’s exactly what he’s been doing all this time, and that’s exactly why Keith’s been doing it for all this time, so if Keith doesn’t feel the same way for him, what the hell is going on? 

Lance can’t bring himself to make eye contact this time. Keith seems to shrink back as a result, and it honest-to-god hurts, but for the sake of—he doesn’t know what, but he’s sure, whatever it is, it’s gonna leave him messed up—he carries on as if everything is perfectly normal.

“So, work’s got ya busy, huh?” Lance can’t decide if he’s genuinely asking or having a swipe at Keith, so it’s probably both. 

He’s unsurprised when he sees Keith’s expression shift from confusion to, ‘Oh, shit, yeah, that’s that lie I told Lance’. Keith chews on his mouthful of pizza longer than Lance deems necessary.

“Yeah. Big commission came in last Monday and they want it completed by next Monday? These people have no clue the process that these things have to go through, or the time it takes. The client is kinda high-profile though, and there’s a huge potential for a long-term contract, so the boss is keen to impress.” He shrugs like the gesture tells the rest of the story. 

“Well, I hope it’s worth it,” Lance says. Momentarily concerned for Keith and what seems like an unfair workload request from his employer, he forgets it’s a lie. Then again, the way Keith told him, with no hesitations and a great deal of plausibility, what if it is the truth? 

Lance doesn’t know which way is up. He needs a distraction. This is the first time in too long that they’ve shared the couch like this. It’s become such a familiar part of their routine. 

There’s something lacking, though. Lance is missing that narcotic, calming effect that normally enshrouds him when he’s in Keith’s orbit. He’s too wound up with his emotional state. He needs a distraction. 

“Netflix?” he asks, as he reaches for the remote on the cushion between them. 

What’s that saying? ‘Great minds think alike’? Or ‘Fools seldom differ’? Yeah, that one. 

Just as Lance’s hand wraps around the control, Keith’s does the same, only he's a fraction slower, so his hand lands, wrapping over the top of Lance’s. 

He’s positive his soul just left his body, all from the gentle, accidental touch. 

They’re both locked, frozen, staring down at the same spot where they’re touching. 

When he feels Keith give a gentle squeeze, Lance isn’t convinced his soul will ever return. Keith lifts his hand off Lance’s and laughs a little as he brings it up to his neck and rubs his fingers up and down. 

“S-sure! I guess I’ve got time for an episode of something before I have to…” Keith’s eyes subconsciously flit in the direction of his room, and Lance’s soul slams back into his body with the force of an anvil in a roadrunner sketch. 

Right. _That_. 

“Y’know what? You pick. Seeing as your time’s limited.” Lance tries to keep the tetchiness in his voice to a minimum, but it’s getting harder to hold his feelings back. He doesn’t exactly throw the remote to Keith, but it’s not what you could call passing it, either. 

For a second, Lance catches the look of hurt (he’s fairly sure that’s what it was) on Keith’s face, and Keith opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but then changes his mind and closes it. Instead, he picks up the remote and wordlessly turns the tv on, before making a hasty selection. 

They both sit in silence, closed off from each other, and merely picking at their food. 

When the episode finishes, Keith closes his pizza box. As he stands, he hesitantly turns but doesn't appear to be able to face Lance directly.

“Thanks for dinner,” He kinda curls in on himself as he speaks, “my treat next time, yeah?”

Lance nods.

“I’m really sorry, Lance,” he says finally, quietly, without context. Then he leaves the room. 

_Fuck you,_ Lance mutters in his head.

He angrily tidies the things from the table and carries them through to the kitchen. 

When he opens the cupboard and spots the bottle of Jack Daniels, he knows it’s a bad idea.

An especially bad idea for a Monday night. 

Sometimes the best ideas come from bad ideas, so he’s just gonna go with it.

It’s pathetic. _He’s_ pathetic, but right now he doesn’t care to be anything better.

He’s gonna have a night in with Mr Daniels Instead, and to hell with Keith and his stupid, secret guy.

Why should he care? It’s not like they ever acknowledged anything they'd felt between them.

Settling into the sofa, crammed with every cushion he can muster, he takes a long swallow of his drink and puts on Breakfast at Tiffany’s; he’s gonna end up crying by the end of the night, one way or another, so he might as well. He doesn’t care if Keith finds him like this. He doesn’t care anymore. 

He doesn’t care anymore. 

He doesn’t care anymore.

He doesn’t care anymore.

He says this to himself every time he pours a new drink and lifts it to his lips.

He doesn’t care anymore.

He doesn’t care anymore.

When Lance wakes up, the menu screen is playing on repeat and it’s late. Lance switches everything off and gets up to go to bed. The room twirls when he stands, he can still feel the effects of the alcohol, but he’s not exactly drunk any more. 

He cautiously makes his way to the bathroom, proud of himself for making at least one good choice tonight, before he inevitably passes out on his bed. He’s tiptoeing down the hallway for fear of bringing attention to himself when, just as he passes Keith’s door, he hears Keith’s voice.

Lance does _not_ want to know what Keith’s saying. Fuck. No! 

Yet somehow his traitorous feet stumble towards that door and the sounds become clearer until he can make out the actual words, and…

“Shhh! What did I tell you before? You gotta keep it down!”

He doesn’t want to hear this…

“If Lance hears you before I can figure out how to tell him about you, he’ll kick us out!”

_Too late, buddy._

“You’re so fucking cute though, maybe once he meets you, he’ll understand,”

_Not a hope in hell._

“But I need you to start behaving. You gonna be good for me, and start behaving?”

Okay, he _really_ didn’t need to hear _that_. His feet need to move, like, _now!_

“You gonna keep me up all night again? Ah! Go easy with that tongue! I told you, you’re too fucking rough!”

_Move your feet. MOVE. YOUR. FEET!!_

“That’s it... good girl,”

_Wait—what?!_

“There, that's it. You like that? Ah-ah-ah! _No teeth!_ ”

Lance is confused. He’s not totally sober and not too drunk either, but he’s confused. He knows that even if he were completely sober, he’d still be confused. 

_What the hell?_

Keith is _gay_. Gaaaaaaay. Like, _gay-gay_. 

Is he… experimenting? Curious? 

As he’s leaning heavily on Keith’s door frame, the gods of fate, or misfortune, or something shitty, decide that _now_ is a good time for some random notif to set his phone off. He hears Keith make a sudden move; he's heard it, and Lance knows he’s been caught. 

_Shit._

His addled thoughts tell him he can deny everything if he dashes to his room before Keith has a chance to find him—like some kind of pervert, here in the hallway, listening in on his dirty-talk with his secret _girlfriend—_ only, as he turns away from Keith’s door as fast as he can, his legs haven't got the memo in time and he crashes forward, narrowly missing his head off the bookcase on his way down to the floor.

Well, now he’s fucked.

Next thing he knows, Keith’s kneeling over him, looking shocked and concerned. 

“Oh my god, Lance! Are you okay?!”

Reacting with the remnants of his intoxication and humiliation, Lance lashes out defensively. 

“I'm fine! I can take care of myself!” he barks, as he yanks his arm back from the comforting hold Keith has on it.

“Have you been drinking?”

Lance doesn’t care for Keith's tone. “So-what if I have? I’m an adult and I can if I want!”

Okay, okay, he’s not perfectly sober, he knows he’s being petulant. He knows that it’s holding hands with his resentment, which has swollen out of all proportion with the added mortification from overhearing the things he just did and being caught out. “I don’t need you, and you _cleeeearly_ don’t need me, so just... go back to your fun-times and leave me alone.”

Keith looks like he’s been slapped in the face. 

A face that, by all intents and purposes, is not as flushed as the one that he was picturing a few moments ago, and he’s wearing far more than he was in that vision too. Well, he’s stripped down to his white undershirt, but still has his low-waisted, black jeans on. 

“What are you talking about?”

Give him credit, in the face of being called out, Keith can put on a half-decent act of being confused, Lance thinks.

“Oh, c’mon, Keith! _I know_ , okay?” His pride decides to step in and say for him exactly what he means, “You can stop it with all the secrecy and lies—by the way, you’re a terrible liar,” he adds for good measure, “I’m kinda hurt that you felt like you couldn't talk to me about it, but maybe I get that…”

Finally, Keith looks like the guilty man he should. “I’m really sorry, Lance. I wanted to tell you, to ask for your permission, and I did think twice about bringing her home, but when I found her, she was all alone, and I couldn’t just _leave_ her like that! I told myself it would be only for one night, but then… well, I sorta… fell in love.”

Lance snorts, “Love at first sight, huh? Well, I guess I shouldn’t laugh, I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you the minute I saw you.”

Oh. 

Oh, shit. Drunken confessions were not a good thing, he knows this. Drunken confessions of _love?_ Way worse. Especially as Lance is only finding out he feels that way about Keith for the first time himself. 

Oh, shit.

Keith’s looking at him dumbstruck.

 _Oh, shit._

“Oh, shit.”

“You… _love_ me?”

 _“Fuck,”_ Lance mumbles as he closes his eyes to avoid having to look at Keith. He hates himself now. 

“You love me,” Keith repeats, as a matter-of-fact statement this time.

Lance covers his face with his hands for extra protection. “Yeah, well, now you know, I guess. Fat lot of difference it makes, now that you have a girlfriend.” He doesn’t mean for it to sound so cynical. 

_“Girlfriend?”_

“Well, whatever! You know what I mean!”

“Lance, I’m gay. What makes you think I have a girlfriend?”

He lifts his hands from his face so he can look at Keith’s stupid face, “You literally just told me you love her.”

The crease between Keith’s brows tightens impossibly closer, then, like a flash, they shoot up into his bangs. Finally, his whole face opens up, and he laughs. 

He laughs so hard he falls onto his side next to Lance, who can only stare at him in a slightly drunken mess of anger and besottedness, because he really doesn’t see what’s funny, but he’s also never seen Keith look more beautiful. 

Eventually, his frustration wins, and he punches Keith on the arm. “What’s so fuckin funny, man?” Lance pouts, propping himself up on one arm. 

Keith simmers-down his laughter, but he’s still wearing the biggest smile when he gazes up at Lance with shining eyes that are full of adoration. 

Suddenly, Keith’s on his feet and holding out his hand for Lance to take. “Come on, let me introduce you to her.”

Lance hesitates. This is the last thing he wants to do. “Nah, man, that’s—that’s not a good idea. It’s late, I’ve been drinking…”

“I promise you, she won’t care. _I Promise,_ ” he emphasises, “trust me, please?”

It’s the tilt of his head as he pleads that makes Lance cave. He allows Keith to pull him to his feet, and his breath hitches when Keith has to wrap his arm around his waist to steady his sway. Lance blushes. Before, he would have given anything for a moment to be pressed up against Keith’s perfect body, and it’s hard to shake the feeling it leaves him with now. 

Keith takes his hand and leads him through to his bedroom. Lance is reluctant as he enters the room, reluctant to come face-to-face with this adversary, but when he looks up there’s no one there. 

“Wh—?” 

Keith shakes his head, that wide grin lighting up his face again as he guides Lance to sit on his bed and turns to the other side of his room. Lance is distracted by the fancy stick with pink feathers protruding from the end that’s lying next to him on the sheets. 

He _really_ didn't need to see that. Before he has a chance to find something else to focus on, Keith’s sitting down next to him, so close that their thighs are almost touching, and he turns his torso in towards Lance. 

“Say hello,” Keith whispers, and there, cupped carefully between his hands against his chest, is a tiny, black kitten.

Lance crumples, turns to goo in seconds. All thoughts of what he was doing there are completely forgotten, because all he can see is Keith, the most attractive man he’s ever seen, clutching a kitten to his chest and looking like some long-lost, classic Athena poster. 

He can’t move. He can’t speak. 

Keith holds the ball of fluff with bright yellow eyes out towards him to take. He has his bottom lip pinched between his teeth and he’s regarding Lance with trepidation.

Finally, Lance shakily pulls in a breath and accepts the offer.

“Oh my gosh!” Lance sighs, “Hi, there…” He gently pets his fingers over its head and gives a scratch behind an ear. “Does she have a name?”

Keith shakes his head.

Holly Golightly’s voice from earlier in the movie echoes in his head: _‘Poor cat! Poor slob! Poor slob without a name!’_

He’s stupid. He’s so, so stupid, he realises, as all the pieces fall into place, but he’s too overcome to care.

“Lance?” Keith breaks the silence with concern, then lifts a hand to Lance’s face and swipes his thumb across his cheek. It’s wet, and Lance becomes aware that it’s because he’s crying. He laughs from overwhelming embarrassment, but more overwhelming is the way his heart hurts from the sheer amount Keith makes him feel. He looks up at him and he can’t stop the fresh wave of tears that streak down his face. He’s an emotional soul and he’s had a load to drink tonight, okay?

“You… y-you rescued a kitten.” 

Keith squeezes his heart to the point that Lance thinks it’s finally going to burst. He didn’t think Keith could be any more perfect, yet here he is, saving baby animals. 

He’s conscious of the fact that Keith’s hand is still cupping his face, his thumb is still tenderly brushing over his cheek.

“I know I should have asked you first, but I was scared you’d object, and I couldn’t—” Keith stops abruptly when their eyes connect again, and his throat bobs. _“You love me?”_ he repeats the question again, incredulously, from out of nowhere. 

Heat floods Lance’s face as he’s forced to remember his confession, but he can’t take it back. He gives Keith a look that questions why he even bothered asking, “You _rescued_ a _kitten_ ,” is his answer.

Keith lets out a shaky breath with a wobbly smile, and Lance loses focus on those lips, but then he finds them pressed against his and he presses back without a second thought. 

It’s warm and soft, generous, and loving, just like the man himself. 

And Lance is—

He’s— he’s—

He’s _so_ in love. 

The press becomes firmer, getting bolder, and Lance breaks away from him with an offended gasp that makes Keith shoot back, looking horrified like he’s got it all wrong. 

Lance stifles a grin and instead he looks at him as sternly as he can. He brings the black fluff-ball up between them and shields the little one’s eyes. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, Keith, but not in front of the baby!”

It takes a second for his expression to change, but then Keith’s face breaks in relief and he laughs as he scoops up the kitten and puts her back in the playpen that Lance has only just noticed. He walks steadily back to Lance and pushes his shoulder enough for him to fall back onto the bed, then straddles him before dipping down and kissing Lance hard. A moment later, he pulls back and stares down at Lance.

“I can’t believe you thought I had a girlfriend,” Keith says with a grin. Lance begins to try to defend himself, but Keith places a finger on his lips, “Trust me, if I’d had any interest in the opposite sex before, you would have made me forget.” 

“Shut up,” Lance says quietly, blushing again. 

“I’ve never met anyone as handsome as you,” Keith says, lifting his hand to reverently card the hair back from Lance’s face, “you're perfect, which is why I can’t believe you love me back.”

“Back? What do y— Wait, wait, wait. You mean…?”

“Fuck, Lance, Yes! I fell for you so hard and fast that first day I met you, it scared the shit out of me! And when you told me you were bi, well, I thought you were just too good to be true. Those first few weeks..." Keith shakes his head, "man! I tried, I _really_ tried to keep my feelings back, I told myself that the chances of being lucky enough for you to be interested in me were zero, but sometimes you did things or said things, that made me wonder… but then, when I found the kitten and had to skip dinner... and then you wouldn’t talk to me... I thought I’d fucked up and you hated me. I took the hint, I knew you didn’t want to see me, and—”

“No, no, no, no! That’s not—” Lance scrubs a hand over his face, “Oh my god, we’re both such idiots!” he chuckles and sees confusion cloud Keith’s face, “Never mind, I’ll explain everything in the morning. So," Lance changes tack, "how’s about now, you show me _just_ how gay for me you are...”

“About time,” says Keith.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a special thank you gift to the incredibly talented artist, Mochichu, who drew the most amazing art for my WIP, [Front and Centre](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16686847/chapters/39133243). It's rare to know someone who is so genuinely kind and generous as she is. My gratitude felt woefully understated and inadequate, and without any other means at my disposal, the only thing I could think to offer was a little bit more Klance.  
> Send her your appreciation, fawn over her beautiful art and follow her on [Tumblr](https://itsmochichu.tumblr.com/post/622023618510094336/it-was-soft-just-a-gentle-press-like-a-test-a), and also [here](https://itsmochichu.tumblr.com/post/622023696429809664/lance-looked-up-to-apologise-only-to-have-his-own) or, [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/xmochichu/) or, [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/xmochichu/status/1278420531927117824?s=20)
> 
> Shout out to my friend and Queen of Fluff, [@devoosha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/devoosha/), who's fluffy fics I could never hope to parallel, but I can give it my best.
> 
> Finally, the title comes from the song, Falling for U, by Peachy!, mxmtoon. Give it a listen [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/0sHFw13WH3LtSB3yP8UMYJ?si=rsl67aoQSaS5d3Gngro3zQ), it's so Klance!
> 
> **Edit** the amazing [Koko Koney](https://twitter.com/Koney_Koko?s=09) is responsible for the beautiful art of Keith and the kitten! Please go give her a follow (18+ only!) and go read her ongoing comic, Between Our Links on Mangadraft [here](https://www.mangadraft.com/reader/between-our-links.en/176432), but please be 18+ as it is NSFW.


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